Loud
by BluEyes
Summary: "You were always good at putting words together/about how you always liked me better when I never came around" One-shot. Randler/Mondler


**Loud**

~.~

_Lately, I've been obsessed with the song "Loud" by Matt Nathanson that is a duet with Ingrid Michealson. Youtube it; it's amazing. This fic is the result of listening to the song on repeat for a few days. _

~.~

Chandler got out of bed slowly, quietly, careful not to wake her. Because one last time had turned into two last times, and two into three, and three into…well, three had turned into a passing of time and what could now only be considered an affair on some level, and he knew he was not mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with the consequences.

Damnit, though, he also wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with losing her.

Catch 22? Sure, that's a nice label to put on the situation. Well, actually, he preferred no label. No label was easier. Technically, Monica was not his girlfriend. They had not yet discussed it, not yet placed it into concrete terms. So, technically, this was not cheating. Being with Rachel was not cheating.

He couldn't talk himself into believing that, let alone someone else should anyone else find out.

He pulled his robe on, sneaking over to her door, tip-toeing across the living room, eyeing Monica's bedroom door as guilt washed over him completely. He then headed out their front door and through his own as quickly as he could without making a sound. He breathed a sigh of relief when he made it home without getting caught.

One more time. How did one more time turn into one more time turn into one more time?

If he believed in God, he would believe that god was smiting him on the spot.

Good thing he was an atheist.

~.~

_God, it had begun so innocently: You're a pathetic loser, right?_

_What choice had Chandler had other than telling Rachel, yes, of course he was a pathetic loser, and joining her on the step in the hallway. She was upset over Joshua, embarrassed about her behavior, dressing up in her cheerleading uniform from high school, for god's sake. After Joshua had left, he had reassured her that, no, she was not a pathetic loser, He was a pathetic loser. She, on the other hand, could still fit into her high school cheerleading uniform. He…well, he was a pathetic loser, had been in high school, too. She was not a pathetic loser._

_They had sat in silence, Rachel silently hoping that Joshua would come back, that Emily would leave without Ross, something, anything good would come of the night._

_Chandler had finally suggested going out for a drink, thinking the distance and the alcohol might help. She had looked down at her outfit and said she was not going anywhere dressed like that; he said she could pull it off._

_A drink at a bar they had never been to before turned into two drinks. Which turned into three drinks and a game of pool. And four and five drinks and another game of pool. And six drinks and sitting at a dark table at the back of the bar, bar stools pushed close together, talking in hushed tones._

_He asked is she still thought she was a pathetic loser. She said yes. He said she wasn't, no way in hell. She was twenty-eight-years-old and could pull off a cheerleader uniform, not pathetic and not a loser._

_She placed a hand on his leg, sad eyes level with his: say more things like that._

_Chandler had swallowed, admitted it might just be the alcohol talking, but she also didn't deserve to have Joshua blow her off, didn't deserve for Ross to fall for someone else so quickly when they clearly weren't over each other. That she was beautiful, and smart, and amazing…_

_And she kissed him. Fat lip and all from her earlier attempts at some kind of cheerleader-esque acrobats, she kissed him. She kissed him, and he kissed her, his hands finding their way to her hips as hers raked through his hair._

_He'd pulled back, said, no, she was upset. She was upset over Ross and Emily, she was upset over Joshua. She told him she could either continue doing this with him, or else find some stranger in the bar to do this with. When he took too long to think that through, she had kissed him again, and, this time, he didn't stop her. He kissed her, let her kiss him, pulled her closer, let her hands wander, let her do her best to let his body convince his mind he was in no way taking advantage of her, taking advantage of the situation._

_They kissed all the way home in the back of a cab, kissed in the hallway between their apartments, kissed as he unlocked his door, and kissed up against his door once they were inside. Chandler had been the one to finally pull back, breathless, head spinning, and said she should probably go home. Rachel asked if he was really going to make this be the one time her cheerleader uniform didn't prove to be as lucky as usual. Only, she asked it as her fingertips trailed from his chin, down his chest, then over the bulge in his jeans that proved he did not, in fact, want her to go home._

_He caved. _

_The next morning, they had shared a slight grin over breakfast, but, for the couple of months that followed, their night went unmentioned and unrepeated._

~.~

Chandler sat by his bedroom window, flicking his lighter as he inhaled his cigarette. Smoking after sex, what a cliché. He closed his eyes, wondering how he had let what was once nothing turn into something.

It was just sex with Rachel. Just sex. Just Earth-shaking, bone-rattling, so good you can't stop, sex.

And Monica-

God, he hated following up thoughts of Rachel with thoughts of Monica. Even having the two of them on his mind at the same time felt wrong, dirty.

Monica was someone he could feel himself, see himself, falling seriously for. And it was more than just sex. It had been about more than just sex with her before it was even about sex with her.

Rachel, on the other hand, was just his friend. Had always been just his friend. Just sex with just a friend.

Smashing out his cigarette on the windowsill, Chandler sighed heavily, standing to go take a shower. He needed to shower, needed to get her taste, her smell, any remnants of her touch off of his body, out of his mind.

Chandler again sighed as he flicked on the bathroom light, peeling off layers of clothes as he headed for the shower.

Right, because a shower would truly cleanse him of anything….

~.~

_Nothing had ever been mentioned between Chandler and Rachel of their previous night together. Or, at least, nothing had been mentioned until Rachel had showed up in London, seeking comfort from Chandler of all people. Monica was still helping Ross search for Emily after Ross said Rachel's name at their wedding, and Monica had told Chandler to go calm Rachel down._

_He would guess this wasn't what she had in mind._

_He didn't want to. He did not want to be kissing Rachel. He did not want Rachel's hands wandering beneath his shirt, tugging on his pants. He did not want to be returning the actions. No, actually, he wanted Monica, had been seeking out alone time with Monica. That was hard to remember, though, with Rachel kissing him like he was either the first or last man she would ever kiss, pressing her body against his in all of the right places, arms entwined with his arms, both of them kissing and touching frantically, layers of clothing beginning to come off._

_And he had pulled back again, and Rachel had begged him not to talk, not to reason, not to tell her why they shouldn't be doing this. He didn't listen, and instead spilled about the night before with Monica. Rachel asked if it meant anything; Chandler said they agreed not to let it happen again, that it didn't count since they were in London (but leaving out the part about trying to do it again while they were still in London…)._

_Right before kissing him again, leaning back onto Joey's bed in his hotel room, Rachel agreed that was a great rule: It didn't count because they were in London._

~.~

Chandler returned to his bedroom, now in a fresh pair of boxers and white undershirt, hair damp from his shower. The last thing he wanted to do was crawl into a bed that smelled like Monica when Rachel was the one still on his mind. Monica had to be at work for an early delivery in the morning. The last time he had been with Rachel, he had had an early meeting at work, so Monica had said they could just sleep that night. He had done his best to make sure he was never with both of them on the same night. Somehow, that would just make it worse.

Chandler crawled into his bed, which did, in fact, smell like Monica, who had slept in it with him for the past three nights. When he was with Monica, it was easy to forget Rachel, easy to imagine ending things, for good, with Rachel, easy to imagine calling Monica his girlfriend.

But then, when he was with Rachel, he had a hard time focusing on anything else. Anything but the raw physical relationship between them. Anything but the way the world stopped and time ceased to exist every time she touched him. The way-

Not the one he meant to be focusing on.

Why couldn't he be an adult and just stop before someone got hurt?

~.~

_Rachel slowly opened Chandler's front door, biting her bottom lip as she closed it, leaning back against it. Ross had abandoned her on the plane to Greece, after asking her if she wanted the extra ticket since Emily wasn't going and it wasn't refundable. But then Emily had shown up, and Ross had taken off after her, and the plane had taken off without him, and Rachel had been left to go on Ross's honeymoon alone._

_Chandler had known the look in her eyes, recognized it immediately. He knew she wasn't as put-together as she had tried to be at breakfast. No. No, actually, she was looking at him like-_

_And she kissed him, before he could process it, before he could stop her, before he could explain the loophole of London Time with Monica, before he could even think of Monica._

_And he was kissing back, letting her lead him backwards towards his room, pulling him by his tie, his hands planted on each of her hips, trying to find the coherence to stop. Nothing with Rachel was coherent, though. Not one moment, not one second, of being with Rachel was coherent._

_She had left without speaking, just as she had walked through his door without speaking. As he re-dressed for work, he made a decision to put a stop to it next time she came to him_

_He had to put a stop to it next time she came to him._

~.~

Chandler stared at the ceiling, unable to get to sleep. The first time after London had been one thing. But the longer things went on with Monica, the more wrong it felt with Rachel. How did Joey do this two-girls-at-once thing? Well, Joey didn't actually do _this_. No, Joey had never been sleeping with two girls he cared about at the same time. Joey may date multiple women at once, but not if he was getting serious with one of them. He had never had an affair.

Affair.

That's the only word Chandler felt could contain the situation.

God, it made him feel so terrible and dirty, though….

~.~

_He ran his hands across her legs, which were wrapped around his back, her back up against his bedroom door as he held up. She drug her nails down his back, gripped his shirt, bit her lip, his lip, anything to keep from crying out._

_He hadn't actually told her he was still seeing Monica. He couldn't form those words when he was with her. _

_Then, again, they didn't do a whole lot of talking about anything when they were together._

_But being a secret seemed to be understood, since there were reasons besides Monica (ie, Ross), to keep the two of them sleeping together a secret._

_If he didn't mention Monica while they were together, though, it was almost like that relationship didn't exist. Besides, there was no reason to mention anything and makes things harder than they already were. Because this was the last time._

_Just as last time had been the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that…._

~.~

Chandler again found himself sitting by his window, unable to sleep, pulling out a fresh pack of cigarettes since the last one was now gone. He lit the first one, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, trying to make it last as long as possible. He smoked the first cigarette, staring out the window at the brick wall of his neighbor's, smashed it out, and lit another.

As with Rachel, every time he bought a pack of cigarettes, he promised himself it would be the last.

Monica would kill him if she knew he was smoking again. Which, she more than likely would if he stayed up for the rest of the night smoking, trying to calm his nerves, trying to feel better about anything.

Really, though, he didn't deserve to feel better about anything. He deserved for both women to find out about each other and be hurt and angry and to have to face the consequences.

What was killing him most was the true inner turmoil. At that moment, on his third cigarette, he couldn't decide which would make him feel better right then and there: Rachel or Monica. He couldn't decide if he would rather go have the most phenomenal sex of his life with Rachel, and block out the rest of the world as usually happened, or if he would rather go cuddle up with Monica and manage a few hours of sleep, her quiet, content sigh once she was in his arms making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

After lighting his fourth cigarette, Chandler closed his eyes, rubbing them with his free hand. He knew he would do neither. He knew he would more than likely sit idly by and let both happen until it all blew up in his face, because that's who he was and how his life worked.

Tonight, though, tonight, he was going to smoke his cigarettes and crawl into bed alone.

It was so much easier when he was alone….

~.~

_You were always good at putting words together  
>About how you always liked me better<br>When I never came around  
>You were always good at putting words together<br>And wearing them so loud  
>And wearing them so loud<em>


End file.
